Stolen Dignity
by peanutlee33
Summary: While out on a run for supplies, Daryl and party encounter a run-in ... with Saviors.
1. Stolen Dignity

He'd run into Negan's people, very unexpectedly. Actually, they were more like defectives.

The Archer had just experienced a nasty run-in with a lank outcast and his lady, who'd stolen his motorcycle, crossbow, and biker jacket, after helping them locate their sickly friend Tina, who'd later gotten attacked unexpectedly by random walkers, after they'd foolishly returned to the battered remains of their former homestead.

He'd tried to warn those damned kids but they wouldn't listen.

He'd assumed he was doing them a civil good deed. After all the sick girl, Tina, was a hidden diabetic: gone into shock after witnessing walkers attack what was left of their old caravan. The place littered with only sad remains of what formerly were family.

The old Daryl would have told them all _"To hell with you. Figure it out yourselves!"_ But this older matured Archer had come to accept good people as family, and had developed some level of humanity for others.

Even those who turned out to be stupid pricks.

But somehow he figured, even that conclusion was as brain-dead as a moth-eaten corpse.

To hell with it all now.

He'd tried helping them all. But the damned girl had died. Her own damned foolishness...

Her friend-or proclaimed sister-had administered the insulin, but moments after, the girl went into shock. She'd barely made it back out again … and yet _insisted_ on rejoining them, despite barely being able to walk.

She just _had_ to nose around that after- shell of their homestead upon arrival. Hell, anyone with half a brain knew, curiosity killed the cat.

After being on the road for so long, those damned kids should have known better about the random walkers. It just made no damned sense.

They'd go about alone, even defenseless, unarmed. That was just asking to get bit.

Dumb fuckers.

One just didn't let their guard down.

Any apocalyptic fool knew that.

But she'd lost her life, and then ... her friends suddenly blindsided him.

The young prick, Dwight, pulled a pistol on him, and cocked it. At _his head_. And normally the Archer'd 've knocked the weapon from the prick's hand easily, but he was too stunned after helping them out to react.

He'd now realized he'd been too fuckin' trusting with these dumb kids … let his damned guard down too good-naturedly.

They'd F*n blindsided him. And his redneck blood boiled.

No way forward, was he chancing anything more, with that prick Dwight-or the whore girlfriend.

Seemed at first, the lame scraggly-haired blonde dude was just kidding around. Hell, he'd waved that stupid pistol around several times.

But with Tina now gone it was just he and that other chick. What was her name? Shelly? Sheila? Sherrie? Who the fuck really cared?

They'd reached the open road, and he was mounting his bike, wishing them both well. Then BLAM.

Normally one charading as a lousy shot or a rookie usually was a facade. Hell, Carol had succeeded that with the Alexandrians when they'd arrived weeks back.

But that was the final straw in this charade. The scraggly blonde prick yanking his beloved biker jacket, right from his damned body.

The Archer had seethed and cursed under his breath, but did not defend. Not with the girlfriend now aiming that pistol at his forehead. Then proudly mounting the back of HIS bike-and boldly shoved her pelvis up against her prick boyfriend's ass, while he then brashly aimed his own crossbow at him-rather insultingly.

"Don't bother trying to follow us, and don't bother trying to track us down. We know people. We're not alone-and you'll be dead."

Then they pulled away-on his damned, friggen bike. And then threw him a grisly smile, as they rode off. "Sorry 'bout this, man."

"You will be." The Archer barely uttered back in his low gurbel, fighting off every inch of his being to just bust loose after those two pricks and take them down off his bike, then wail the shit out of the blonde prick, and barely spare the whore girlfriend.

They'd pulled off down the road while proudly waving HIS stolen crossbow in the air, like it was a damned trophy.

He was forced to watch them ride away, wishing to god he'd had a militant rifle airblaster at his disposal.

How happily he'd blow those two to Jesus, with absolutely no repentance.

Luckily he'd been standing mere yards from a huge pile of brush.

A place of curiousness noticed from earlier on.

Now clearing away the large branches and debris, he uncovered a 1976 Chevy C60 S/A fuel truck, presumably loaded with militant style weapons.

His fortune had landed!

Climbing inside, he saw the keys happily still in the ignition and peeled the hell out of there, off down the road.

No time to think about those young pricks, who'd falsely befriended him and then blindsided him.

He had to pick up Abe and Sasha, and then get them all back to Alexandria. HOME.

They'd been gone nearly three days now, with little to no radio contact from Rick.

Fuck knows ... the very last thing they needed right now was a search party out looking for _them._

And… he'd been gone too long, from _her_ …

God, how he longed to see her pretty face again. Hear her gentle voice and watch her move ... her signature Carol moves.

How great he thought she looked in that white blouse and cardigan, a newer 'style' she'd adopted, as matron 'mom' role, she'd adopted with Alexandria over time. Though he could never truly say so. Damned coward.

He'd be forever cursed in his lameness … never speaking out his feelings for her.

Now reaching the dry-post, abandoned Army station, Abe had waited inside with Sasha. The Archer yanked the truck up along the side, wasting no time.

In a flash, Abe and Sasha were on board, and the Chevy was now flying down the road again. No words spoken among them nor needed.

Then hours, it seemed, instead of only minutes-traveling that long, desolate road, back to Alexandria.

Abe finally spoke up. "Think we did pretty well. We make a good team."

Sasha and Daryl said nothing in return, as the Archer was never one for talk. Except for one person, naturally. And much less right now, he also wasn't in the mood.

His human dignity had been stolen from him.

The young, smug pricks that'd openly stolen his bike, his crossbow ... his prized jacket.

Somehow, some way, somewhere, he _would_ findthe little bastards and retrieve his property: them alive _or_ dead.

And ... the relief of finally get back to Alexandria.

To the one person he needed to get back to-get back home to, talk to … privately … about…. things.

The best friend who'd long become his whole universe. And had taught him patiently about LOVE.


	2. Cruel Encounter

Then it happened…

Barely a quarter mile from home-base, Daryl is heavy behind the wheel, barreling along like no one's business. All too anxious to reach home base. Perhaps walk off some anger over what'd just happened with that prick Dwight and the girlfriend, and then grab some homemade grub he knew Carol would have ready from the oven.

But alas fantasy instead of reality. A roadblock. Sasha noticed it first.

"My god, Daryl …" she practically hissed with more alarm than fear. "Yea, I see 'em." he grunted under his breath, a feeling of nausea and disgust now forming in his gut. He was more than done in dealing with assholes and pricks for the ride.

Abe merely furrowed at the scene ahead while sucking in his breath, as the truck edged closer. "What in god's 'H' is that?".

The truck edged closer ...

A gang of bikers, lined up across the road. Very unfriendly faces. Roughly a dozen or so - no doubt Saviors-Daryl senses instinctively as he forcibly, _disgustedly_ reduces the truck's speed.

He _could_ just keep driving-plow right through the pricks -teach them a lesson for blocking the damned road like they freaking owned it. But no way he wanted that kind of blood on his hands, like some road rage monster he isn't.

With spitting breath, he reluctantly slows the truck and then grinds the brakes to a halt-still a good distance from those pricks, but now curses under his breath while shoving the gear shifter into park, that he _doesn't_ just plowing through the bastards and continue toward home base.

His narrowed, angered eyes now skirt the rail of bikers and then close on the obvious leader at the front. A younger scraggly dude with dark unkempt hair and a ragged five-o'clock. No one mean-looking per say, but definitely the prick type who'd interrupt a game of pool for some good group ass-kicking.

After a few moments the scraggly prick hops off his bike then stands next to it-his hand resting on the handlebars-and addresses them in a sarcastic commanding tone. "Come on outta that truck. Join us on the road."

 _Asshole_. Daryl seethes behind the wheel, now pissing at his conscience for stopping him from running the prick, and his gang, down.

"Now if ya wanna resist-just try sum'thin. Anything at all. An' I promise you…you won't last." The prick calls loudly at them from his distance. _Fuck this guy_. Daryl stews as Sasha and Abe equally stew in their seats.

"The choice is yours." The scraggly prick adds annoyingly, then pauses a moment before continuing. "And we will bid your asses. An', what you're ridin' too. Straight through yer sinuses. So, come on." He now sarcastically prompts them to step out of the truck.

Breathing spitfire and tacks, Daryl angrily kills the engine, then slowly, silently steps out onto the pavement with his companions. The scraggly prick doesn't move from his bike, but only smirks back at his comrades. "Well now, isn't this great. We love it when people cooperate."

 _Frickin' jackasss_. Daryl stews as the scraggly prick returns his attention back to them. "Step one", he now calls out loudly. "Hand over your weapons."

Now Daryl seriously fights from losing composure and advancing on the prick dick, to knock his ass the hell off that bike, and punch the crap out of him, because they are obviously outnumbered. And only an idiot would do so otherwise. _Sum'bitch._

"Why should we?." He growls in his best defense of the moment. What the hell he wouldn't give right now for a damned grenade! Better yet -a f*g rocket-launcher.

"Well see, it's quite simple." The scraggly prick replies to him flatly, while lightly wiping his brow. "They're not yours."

He now steps away from his bike and then proceeds forward like a boss. "Your weapons, your truck, your fuel…the gum stashed in the glove compartment alongside the folded maps and the flashlight. The porn underneath the seats. Hell, the seats themselves with the loose change in between, _and_ the shades shoved up in the visor ... None of those things are yours."

"Yea…?" Sasha practically hisses back at the dude challengingly. "And just _whose_ are they?"

The scraggly prick steps in closer. "That all property … belongs to _Negan_." And pauses a moment before stepping forward again … until he is mere yards from them. "Now, if you all can get your hands on a tanker … our person wants to know. Better yet- _will know_." And now approaches Daryl with no reservation. "We'll get those side arms now, shall we?" motioning very politely to the Archer, as Daryl stares back at him with icy hardness, barely raising his arms to let the prick lightly pat him down before blankly reaching into the hunting belt to take the loaded firearm.

He politely grins at Daryl with a mock nod, and then moves to Sasha to collect her weapon. She eye-balls him sharply then sarcastically drops her pistol into his readied hand, and he smirks back at her very politely while mouthing a 'thank you'. He now approaches Abraham in the same manner and the ginger-head merely squints ahead at the row of armed bikers, ignoring him to study the scene, noticing that two of the Savior thugs are holding hi-power looking rifles.

The scraggly prick becomes irritated with the oversized ginger-head and speaks at him sharply. "If you have to eat shit…" pursing his lips at Abraham, who merely downcasts his eyes at the shorter man. "Best not to nibble." Abe just silently pities the little prick for having to act so tough in order to overcompensate for his short size. Easily can he smash this guy down with a bare fist, the same as Daryl. But like the Archer, isn't stupid enough to act on that, considering the handful of hi-power weapons the bikers are carrying. _Scraggly prick, you're damned lucky you were smart enough to have an armed fleet along._ As he now eyeballs the dude back and then reluctantly, heavily, reaches into his belt for his gun and all but slaps it into the outstretched hand.

The scraggly prick glares pointedly up at the towering ginger-head with no reservation. "Bite, chew, swallow, repeat… It goes far quicker." and purses his lips sarcastically, knowing he indeed is the boss here-but only with his well-armed fleet.

Abe merely eyes him back in silence as the dude pockets the pistol and then turns and walks away.

Daryl now feels his blood pressure churn while he brainstorms fiercely for a plan-any damned plan, to derail this moment.

But it truthfully, it's a lost battle.

All he has left on his person is his hunting knife; the prick Dwight hadn't noticed from earlier. What the hell was he gonna do? They were officially trapped.

The scraggly prick now strolls casually back to his bike, as if he did this every day.

"I know you're real curious about things." He comments aloud, while approaching his surrounding biker thugs, and then hands off two of the weapons to a longer-haired greasy-looking dude with a large tattoo on his neck. "Like 'who are you people?' But-well-see-we have questions ourselves." He now turns around with Abe's 45 in his grip. "And we'll be the ones asking 'em … while we drive you back, to wherever it is you call home." And now walks the few steps to his bike. "So, let's take a gander at where it is, you all hang your hats." and grins lopsidedly at Daryl, Abe, and Sasha, then glances downward a moment, while sucking his tongue between his teeth, and then back up at them again. "But first…", he purses his lips. "… your shit."

And now glances pointedly between Daryl and the 45 in his hands, before centering his attention back up at the Archer. "Where do you have it? What've you got for us?" a challenging accusation in his voice.

 _Fuck you, dude_. "Whaddaya mean? You just took it." Daryl responds with dry sarcasm as though the scraggly prick just asked him the million-dollar idiot question.

The scraggly prick toys with the 45 and half rolls his eyes, growing impatient, and grins roguishly with pursed lips, glancing irritably at the Archer. "Come on." He says coolly. "I mean … can … can we not…? Can we not play this? Whatever and whomever it is ... you think yer bullshittin' here? I mean, really?"

Daryl merely glares at the scraggy prick with steadied breath, truthfully growing a tad nervous by the minute. He knows the back of the truck is fully loaded, and that his hunting knife is well concealed in his side pocket-if that's what this prick is getting antsy about. But fifteen biker pricks loaded with air rifles could turn on them at any moment, and easily take them all down in a nasty heartbeat.

The Archer now struggles with himself to not lose his head. Wrong game, wrong time. Not outnumbered and out-weaponed.

"There is always … more." The scraggly prick continues at Daryl irritably, challengingly, almost tauntingly. "Catch my drift?" then turns around to his men, while taking a seat on his bike.

"Yo, Tee" He now back-motions to one of his thugs-a taller ball capped, short-haired dude. Ball cap hops off his bike and proceeds forward. "Take my man here…" The scraggly prick motions at Daryl. "…to the back of the truck. Start your way up from the bumper."

Ball cap approaches Daryl then rudely shoves the Archer by the shoulder, and then shoves him forward, and they disappear around the side of the truck.

Abe and Sasha merely stand by in pained silence as the gears spin madly inside the ginger-head's brain. He is no stranger to this type of scenario, being a former combat hero. Hell, he's been in far worse prisoner situations. Easily could he navigate this, or call damage-control - long as cards are played right. These guys seems like half intelligent assholes.

"Bite. Chew. Swallow. Repeat." The scraggly prick repeats at Abe and Sasha mockingly as he looks up smilingly from the 45 in his hands, while checking its chamber to ensure it's loaded.

Sasha takes this moment to stretch out her neck muscles as they wait, and Abraham just glances downward at her questioningly. _She's calm about this?_ But he is tired of the intimidating silence. The scraggly prick examining that damned gun as Daryl is obviously occupied ... while they wait around ... _bullshit_.

"Who's Negan?" he now speaks up calmly, presuming there is no further business at hand, as they all wait for ball cap and Daryl to return.

Scraggly prick now lifts the 45 and aims it at him. "Ding, dong, hells, bells…" he drawls mockingly, as Sasha suddenly straightens, horrified.

"Usually, you see…" he begins at them. "we introduce ourselves by simply popping off one of you, right off the bat." his eyes crinkle. "But hey", he continues mockingly. "You seem like reasonable people. Hell, you're sporting dress garb, for crissake!" eyeballing Abraham smarmily, then addressing them both. "N like I said, we're gonna drive you back to wherever you were. But-" makes a mock grisly face. "You gotta know how damned awkward it is, carpooling with friends of friends … whose friends you just killed."

Then pauses moment before continuing. "And I told you-not to ask any questions." and raises the 45 at Abe. "And what does this ginger-head go and go and do-?" Sasha feels her heart race in panic, her eyes now averting up to Abraham, and then back at the scraggly prick. "So that's, that." the prick continues flatly. "See-I don't want to give you the wrong impression of me." cocking the 45 at them both.

"WAIT!" Sasha suddenly pipes up, panicked … eyeing the scraggly prick desperately. She now closes her eyes and breathes deep, shoving down the mental anxiety bile now rising in her stomach. _Be smart, lady-_ - _be smart!_ "Just wait-a moment. Please! You don't have to do this."

Abe glances down at her quizzically. _What the F*? The hell's she doing?_

The scraggly prick suddenly brings out the other pistol and aims it her, and she nearly swallows her tongue in horror.

Abe now throws her a warning look and mutters. "Shut - up!" She glances upward at him annoyed. "I am trying… to talk to the man." _Get it….Sergeant? I can handle this!_ Abe merely shakes his head at her and mutters while furrowing his brow. "No, you're not."

"No … you're not." The scraggly prick interrupts sarcastically, as he cocks his head at them, aiming both barrels straight at their foreheads. "Say goodbye, both of you."

Sasha painfully sucks in her breath and closes her eyes. Abe breathes steadily, almost calmly. If this is his time to go, he's on it. These creeps are small-game compared to the combats he's fought.

But the scraggly prick only sits there on his bike tauntingly … both pistols still drawn on them. And truthfully, this moment is far more painful than him just pulling the damned triggers.

"Awe hell … who'm I kiddin'." He now teases, while looking between them, enjoying this nasty taunt. Now averts his eyes at the ground and then back up at them. "I don't really feel like it today. So-I ain't gonna kill ya."

The surrounding air now goes eerily still, as the scraggly dude sits on his bike, toying the barrel ends of both guns together - as Abe and Sasha stand by in deathly silence. Sasha barely breathes frazzled breath, a zillion 'goodbye' thoughts whirling in her pretty brain. _Tyreese...Bob…guess I'll be joining you soon. I love you both._

"You know what-yes, I am." Scraggly dude now raises both pistols at them, and cocks.

* * * _B O O M!_ * * *

A firebomb out of nowhere suddenly shakes the surrounding earth and air violently, throwing Abe and Sasha backwards to the pavement.

Pieces of plastic and metal drop about like falling shells. The firebomb now burns steadily where the rows of bikes sat only moments ago, smoke billowing about slowly.

As it starts to clear moments later, a miraculous site now reveals the scene of destruction. Destroyed bikes lay in piles of disintegrated twisted metal, strewn generously about a few scattered charred body parts.

A moment later-around the driver side corner of the truck, now appears, the Archer hero-proudly brandishing a rocket launcher, like a wicked guardian angel. Daryl surveys the wreckage for any signs of human life, but sees nothing moving. Abe and Sasha now cough as they get back to their feet and dust themselves off, then survey the destruction.

Sasha grins and chuckles lightly, with brandish delight over the miracle before them. She was truly almost a goner, alongside Abraham. _Way to go, Daryl Dixon. You're a true hero._

"Sum'bitch was tougher than what he looked." Daryl says flatly, about the dead scraggly dude, as Sasha notices the bleeding gash on the back of his biker jacket, near his shoulder. "Did he cut you?" as they walk around inspecting the wreckage. "A little." he replies flatly, as she places her hands proudly on his shoulders, smiling ear to ear. "Lame bunch of assholes."

"Let's get you fixed up at home." She says, grinning happily, while patting his backside.

"Yes ma'am." He responds dryly, while opening the driver side door.

Abe treks around to the passenger side, and then throws a look at the charred remains of the scraggly prick dick.

"Nibble on that, prick-", and then hops back inside the truck.


End file.
